Hey Pack,

Just thwarted the vac monster here in Pawsburgh. Tail’s up, this Great Pyrenees ain’t just fluff – turned my nemesis into accidental art. Canine justice served with a side of Meat Lover’s pizza! Another tail-waggin’ day in the life of your four-legged vigilante. 🎨🐾🍕

– The Artful Barker, Emerson

Listen to the story here

I remember it like it was yesterday, the whir of the vacuum cleaner not just sweeping the floor but also sweeping away my peace of mind. It was relentless, a contraption of chaos, and I swore on my bowl of kibble that I would have my revenge. Well, today seemed as good as any other in Pawsburgh.

“Nary a four-legged friend,” I muttered to my reflection in the pool by Pointer Pier. Reflective as I am, I gazed at my glorious coat – black and white, like the yin and yang, perfectly balancing my universe of fur. Until that… vacuum.

Shaking off the memory, I met my reflection’s bright gaze. Today, I plot my revenge in the land where adventures unfold like the endless rolls of an unwound leash.

“Good thing I look dashing, even when scheming,” I told no one in particular as I sauntered towards the crème de la crème of doggy destinations – Diamond Doberman Dunes. They said one could dig to the very center of the Earth here, and if a doggy mind were set to it, perhaps uncover more than just bones.

A sharp turn took me to Saluki Sands, where the grains sparkled like stardust. But even these wonders were mere distractions from my determined quest for sweet revenge.

It was then I smelled something irresistible wafting from Pawprint Pizzeria. My tummy rumbled, betraying my willpower. “A gastronomic democrat, I am,” I reasoned, “this pitstop is practically mandatory.”

As I devoured slices of the Meat Lover’s Manifesto, sauce clinging on to my whiskers like climbers to a mountainside, an inkling of a vengeful plan began to take shape.

I stopped at The Canine Café for a cup of their famous beef broth brew, a place of warmth and scattered laughter – not unlike my own home on Earth. As the bell tinkled upon my exit, I felt energized, not just from the brew but from the art of plotting.

“Where to now, Emerson?” I asked myself.

As if answering my self-inquiry, The Tail Wagger’s Tailor beckoned. The tailor, a Bulldog with taste as refined as my snowy curls, eyed me knowingly.

“I need a costume,” I declared, a disguise that would terrify the most fearsome of foes. “Make it… grand,” I finished, with a ba-da-boom worthy of an audience.

With a new, glorious cape billowing behind me in faux-fury, I set forth, orbiting the center of Pawsburgh towards my destiny. It was time to confront the monster, the vacuum cleaner in The Furry Friends Art Gallery which had swallowed a beloved toy – the injustice!

“It’s showtime,” I barked, charging through the gallery doors, my cape a superhero emblem.

The vacuum, silent and unsuspecting, sat in the corner. I squared up, facing the beast, a rolling thunder of determination in my chest. Salt and pepper strands stood like tiny soldiers on my back.

“Alright, you foul creature. Prepare to do battle.”

An echo followed, the kind of silence before a storm, or in this case, the delightful ding of comedic karma.

And then, with swift agility only a Great Pyrenees with a flair for the dramatic could muster, I knocked over an open can of paint right beside the vacuum. My heart a treble clef of pounding notes, I stepped back, my work here done – a dirty protest one might say, served cold.

The paint pooled around the vacuum, a rainbow of rebellion – abstract art born of canine justice.

Satisfied, I ventured off to Chihuahua’s Chimichangas to celebrate with a culinary victory lap, leaving the gallery to wonder at the colorful addition to their collection.

In silence—or rather, the absence of a certain vacuum’s roar—I conceived a new truth: in Pawsburgh, Emerson’s revenge is not just sweet, it’s vibrant, and it lasts forever. Or at least, until the next cleaning day.

Revenge prologue complete, tucked away until the next sunrise on Earth. Let the humans whisper tales of the Great Pyrenees who painted Pawsburgh a shade braver that day.

The End.